Machine's Way
by Psycho Hippie Number Five
Summary: An old friend of Charley's comes to the garage after a fight, and meets the mice. But does this woman have one too many skeletons in the closet to keep locked safely away?
1. Prologue

Hello! This is the first story I've decided to post (which is odd, seeing as this first aired when I was still floating around the gene pool), but certainly not the first one I've written. I accept constructive criticism, but not flames. Those shall be used for large explosions. Also, there will be times when I ask your opinions for things (names, pairings, etc.) and will come up with random questions that you do not have to answer (but it's nice to know what other people think), and if I ask these pointless questions, do not fight over the answer.

**WARNING:** This story contains violence, swearing, drug use, drinking, and suggestive themes. Do not read if you can't handle.

Disclaimer: _Biker Mice from Mars_ belongs to its rightful creator. The two main OCs (Macca and Roadface) are based off me and my cousin, and all other OCs belong to me. You cannot use them without permission.

-x-

Macca was steadily making her way down the street, ignoring the searing pain that came with every other step. The gangbangers on the streets didn't play fair, and ever since her decision to relocate and rename her own, she'd become an easy target. Even if her former reputation had been beating up guys twice her size (which was saying something, being five foot eight herself) with nothing but a crowbar.

She dimly remembered her encounter with Rawlie's gang, being jumped in the alley and waking up later littered with cuts and bruises. Macca then made the decision to start carrying the crowbar with her again. Even if it meant getting arrested. Been there, done that.

Macca rounded the corner and promptly bumped into someone. Through the faint veil of confusion the impact had caused, she notice the familiar mechanic whom she'd helped several years ago, before things had started going down hill. Charley opened her mouth to say something, turned her head at a sudden shout at Macca, grabbed the other's hand and took off running.

-x-

Macca stared in faint amusement as Charley fumbled with the lock on the door, wheezing and panting. "Um, are you alright?" she asked slowly, watching the woman sag against the door.

"Yes...yes," Charley managed. "You've run everyday since you could walk. I haven't."

"Yeah, well, fast food is taking its toll," Macca said, rolling up her sleeve and observing a gash. "You own a sewing kit?"

"Um, sure," she said, disappearing upstairs. Macca stared around the room, walked into the kitchen. Her eyes travelled to the liqueur cabinet, which was locked. She remembered relaxing after a long day of helping out with a bottle of Rebel Yell whiskey. Grabbing a knife from one of the drawers, she picked the lock and pulled out a bottle of cheap whiskey. She leaned against the counter, loosely holding the bottle in her fingertips and accepted the kit from Charley.

"What," Macca began, threading a needle with industrial strength gray thread. "Are you trying to make me owe you?" The other woman was still huffing and puffing, unable to speak, and opted instead to shake her head. "Heh." A brief smile crossed her face. "Then do me a favor, next time you go out, be a good dudette and buy me some Rebel Yell. I'd piss Rebel Yell if I could," she added as an after thought.

Charley laughed faintly. "Yeah, you also swear to drunk you're not God." Macca chuckled, sewing up the deep cuts.

"I regret it. I was determined to yell _yahoo_ or _hot damn_ or _sex-machine_ at the top of my lungs." She bit off the end and rethread the needle. "There's a helluva good one on my back, you mind?" Macca lifted up the back of her shirt, holding it with one hand and grabbing the whiskey with the other. She glanced around the kitchen again. "Have I been replaced?"

"Hmm? What?" Charley asked, confused.

"Dudette, hot dogs and root beer. You can't stomach _all_ of this. You got men."

"In a manner of speaking."

"That isn't very reassuring," Macca murmured, pulling her shirt back down. "Well, thanks anyway." She walked to the door, the bottle of whiskey swinging in a barely-there grip.

"You can't leave," Charley said suddenly, looking concerned. Macca turned and arched a brow. "They're out there."

"Dudette, they're _always_ out there." She paused. "But since you offered..." She collapsed on the couch, grabbing the remote. "Thanks." She opened the bottle of whiskey and poured some on the cut in her arm before becoming interested in a monster truck event being broadcast.

-x-

It was around seven when the mice showed up. Macca, who had been calmly nursing the whiskey up the this point, jolted at the sound of motorcycles. "What was that?" she asked, turning to Charley.

"Friends. Besides" -she lowered her voice, for the sake of the first impression of Macca- "just because you were in a gang, doesn't mean everyone's going to come after you with guns and bikes." Macca glared at her.

"I know that. I'm just not a people person."

-x-

The mice stared at the woman lounging on the couch. Her gold eyes stared back. Her bright orange hair, which barely touched her eyebrows, stood out in contrast with the black clothes she was wearing. A purple chain like scar ran from the left side of her hairline down her neck, where it disappeared into the collar of her shirt. She gave Charley a confused look.

"You're not _that_ drunk," she reassured, plucking the bottle from the woman's hand anyway.

"Good," she said, brightening. "I was beginning to question the limits of my imagination. Today giant mice, tomorrow dancing hippos in tutus."

"Guys," Charley said as she began the introductions. "This is Loni Machine. She used to help me a long time ago. Loni, this is Throttle, Modo, and Vinnie." She gestured to each one as she said their name.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Machine," Modo said. Loni looked shocked.

"I...don't think anyone's ever said 'nice to meet you, miss' to me in my life," she said after a moment, following with a grin. "Just Macca, dude. Machine's what _they_ call me."

Charley turned to her with a look of realization. "Speaking of Machine, how's your bike?"

"Looks like the wratha god," Macca said sadly. "Holdin' together with duct tape and pure will. I'm afraid to touch it."

"Really? That's horrible," she murmured. "It was your life."

"It was my reputation, not my life. Now, I suggest we stop this conversation before sone catches on." Macca stood, stretching. "I'm off. I'll bring her to the shop if she'll last that long. Maybe Roadie'll help." She walked out the door with a simple wave.

"What was that about?" Throttle asked, taking the spot where Macca had been.

"Oh, we just ran into each other," Charley said. "She's a got a bad rep, but her heart's in the right place."


	2. Chapter 1

I do not own _Biker Mice from Mars_, no matter how much I want to.

The songs used in this chapter are "Bad to the Bone" by George Thorogood, "Rock of Ages" by Def Leopard, "Jeepers Creepers" by various artists, "I Want To Hold Your Hand" by the Beatles, "Eleanor Rigby" by the Beatles, "Life on Mars?" by David Bowie, and "The Bad Touch" by the Bloodhound Gang.

-x-

Charley looked up as she heard two voices shouting outside, one British, one faintly southern. She walked over to the window and looked out, spotting Macca and her familiar Harley Fatboy, quickly followed by a black FX. Macca's bike was indeed held together with duct tape; the license plate had been reattached, the exhaust pipe was steadily parting with the piece of tape holding it to the frame, the whitewall tires had been patched with it.

"Hey!" the British one shouted, speeding out of the way as Macca swerved dangerously.

"Whoa," she shouted, stamping one foot on the ground as the Fatboy threatened to fall. They steadily made their way up the driveway, where Macca's bike sputtered, belched a large amount of black smoke from the engine, and died. It remained there, panting like a half-dead animal. She smacked the handlebars a few times and let out a long, loud string of curses.

"Time of death 12:39 pm," the British woman said as Charley slipped through the trap door. "Ooh, how ironic."

"What?" Macca asked, taking off her helmet. Her scar seemed more black than purple. She stared into the tinted visor of her companion for an answer.

"Well, you see, 'L' is the twelveth letter of the alphabet, right? And '39' is--" She was cut off by an angry scowl from Macca.

"Anyway," Macca said. "Helpa me, wouldja? And call me old-fashioned, but I'm keeping the whitewalls. So I'm-a gonna borrow that truck o' yours. Alright?"

"Oh, your very mean, Mac," the British woman declared, clearing her throat.

"Yeah. Sure. Roadie here'll help. I'll be back in a bit." Macca accepted the keys from Charley and backed the truck out of the garage.

-x-

"Hello," the brunette woman greeted, watching the mice out of the corner of her eye. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, calmly polishing the chrome on a motorcycle. Which seemed like it would take a long time, seeing as all the paint, save for something written across the fuel tank, had been stripped off and the metal underneath polished several times over.

"Hi," Throttle replied cautiously. At this point, Macca marched into the garage carrying a whitewall tire under each arm.

"Gangway," she said, dropping the tires near the bike and beginning the task of putting them on the bike. "For the record," she continued, looking up at the mice. The radio in the corner blared out 'Helter Skelter'. "Wrong kinda record, Jude." The music stopped. "They call the brit Roadface, for obvious reasons."

"Yes, of course," Roadface said, turning to reveal a scar like a tire tread on the right side of her face. She flashed a brief smile. "How do you do?" She pointed at the radio in the corner. "That's Jude, Mac's turtle. Do not try to have a serious conversation in a room with a radio with him there."

_--The head nurse spoke up_

_And she said leave this one alone_

_She could tell right away_

_That I was bad to the bone--_

"Jude, find someone else to parody," Macca said, moving to the other tire.

_--Burn it up let's go for broke_

_Watch the night go up in smoke_

_Rock on (rock on)_

_Drive me crazier, no serenade_

_No fire brigade, just pyromania, c'mon--_

"What did I ever do to you?" Roadface asked, looking at the turtle critically.

_--Jeepers, creepers...where'd ya get them peepers_

_Jeepers, creepers... where'd you get them eyes_

_Gosh oh, git up...how'd they get so lit up_

_Gosh oh, gee oh... how'd they get that size--_

"Do you realize how rude that is?" Macca questioned, giving Throttle a quick glance.

_--Now let me hold your hand,_

_I want to hold your hand._

_And when I touch you I feel happy inside_

_It's such a feeling that my love_

_I can't hide, I can't hide, I can't hide--_

"You have no manners," Roadface said, shaking her head and casting Modo an apologetic look.

_--Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the rice in a church where a wedding has been_

_Lives in a dream_

_Waits at the window, wearing a face that she keeps in a jar by the door_

_Who is it for?--_

"Jude, seriously, that's very insulting," Macca sighed, looking at Vinnie in exasperation.

_--Sailors_

_Fighting in the dance hall_

_Oh man look at those cave men go_

_It's the freakiest show_

_Take a look at the lawman_

_Beating up the wrong guy_

_Oh man wonder if he'll ever know_

_He's in the best-selling show_

_Is there life on Mars?--_

"Really?" Roadface asked, looking at Macca.

"He may be insanely rude, but he's always right."

"Cool," she said simply, returning to the task of polishing the chrome. "All the world's questions about aliens have been solved."

"Yeah, well, outta my way," Macca said, throwing a leg over her bike. It gave one loud, sputtering protest and roared to life. She revved the engine a few times and frowned as it backfired several times. "C'mon, c'mon, babe," she coaxed as the engine began to die and finally whittled down into silence. "Dang. That certainly didn't work." The radio began to play a soft sad tune.

"Jude, be serious, have a little sympathy for the Machine, eh?" Roadface proposed, throwing an arm around Macca's shoulder and looking at the mice. "Be nice chaps and go find Charley." The two women watched them leave.

"Why'd you say that?" Macca asked, shoving her companion's arm off.

"What? The Machine?" Roadface scoffed lightly. "Like they're gonna know whether I'm talking about you or the bike. Besides, if it's written on the side there, who's gonna know?"

"Honestly? You, me, and Charley."

"Lighten up, yankee!" she said cheerfully. "If it comes down to it, we brain them with something or get them drunk or high--"

"And terribly suggestible," Macca said, giving a sly grin.

"You pervert."

"You're one to judge?"

_--Do it now_

_You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals_

_So let's do it like they do on the discovery channel_

_Do it again now--_

"Jude, stoppa that," Macca said, giving him a 'stern mother' look.

"What's going on?" Charley asked.

"The Machine's being a pain," Roadface supplied, crossing her arms.

"Which one?" Charley questioned with a smile.

"Both of them."

"Hey!" Macca shouted dignantly, lightly punching Roadface's shoulder.


	3. Chapter 2

I do not own _Biker Mice from Mars_. I do own a plethora of other things in here.

-x-

An hour after the second failed fixer-upper job, the three women (and one turtle) filed lazily into the kitchen.

"I just don't get it," Charley said after awhile. "There's nothing wrong with The Machine, why does it keep going out?"

"Don't, don't say it like that," Macca said, bringing a hand to her forehead. "There's no way I could replace it."

"So you haven't moved on?" Charley asked, looking concerned.

"Old habits die hard," she answered, making a small motion to drop the conversation. Roadface was sitting on the counter, staring fixedly at Vinnie's plate. Macca noticed this and slapped her shoulder. "Don't steal food."

"Oh, c'mon, like he needs it," Roadface whined.

"Getcher own." She paused. "Besides, if they're going to help with The Machine, I don't want any more problems than I've already got. Sabotage city."

"The Machine?" Vinnie echoed through a bite of his hotdog.

"Yeah," Macca clarified. "'The Steel Machine'. Ever heard of that?" All three shook their heads. "Good."

"Why is that good?" Throttle ventured.

"Because that would permanently alter your impression of me."

"Are you hungry?" Charley asked suddenly, trying to brighten Macca's mood.

"Nah. I've got stuff I gotta do." She turned to Roadface. "Mind if I borrow your bike?"

"Don't kill it."

"What, everything I touch dies? Because that would be a problem." Macca dropped an all-knowing wink and walked to the door. "Feed Jude. He hasn't eaten all day."

"Oh you poor thing," Roadface crooned, ransacking the fridge. "Go tell Aunt Roadie the old gray goose is dead."

-x-

"Thanks for lettin' me stay," Roadface told Charley as the two of them fed Jude lettuce from a bag of salad mix. The mice had long since left after taking a quick look at Macca's bike

"Anything for a friend of a friend," she smiled, watching as the turtle slowly bit the piece of lettuce she offered him.

"You sure you wanna say that for a friend of someone like Macca's?" She laughed at Charley's pained expression. "Go on, mate, I won't be offended."

There was a steady silence, filled only with the tick of a clock and the crunch of lettuce. "No," Charley said finally. "But you're different."

"I'm different, am I?"

"Well, I mean, Macca _did_ save your life, didn't she? So, she's not _all _bad."

"She never was. I guess it was just genes. You know, with the whole 'I'm Alexis Machine's daughter' thing. She was bound to inherit something." The two of them stared down as the radio on the counter, which had been playing Fleetwood Mac, dissolved into static. "Jude, what is it? That was a good song." He surfed through several stations before stopping on a news station, where a meteorologist was finishing up a weather report.

_"The Steel Machine is rumored to be back in active service, after the body of Mac Earlson was found beaten in the section of Chicago that had once been known as Lot 39 to the gangbangers. This was the territory of Loni Machine, the daughter of convict Alexis Machine, and her former gang Machine's Way. Examination of the boy revealed that the weapon had indeed been a crowbar- the preferred weapon of Miss Machine. Citizens are to be on the look out for a woman, 5 foot 8, short orange hair, possible riding an all-chrome Harley Fatboy with 'The Steel Machine' written on the side. Anyone who sees Machine is to notify the police."_

"Holy Jesus fu..." Charley whispered, turning quite pale.

"It wasn't her," Roadface said, grabbing the phone.

"How do you know?"

"She visiting the girl with the Wrecker. Texted me about it when she got there." She punched the number into the phone and held it to her ear. "Hello, Kylie? Roadface. Is Macca there? Can I talk to her...Hey Mac, you heard the news? No? They say you're back in active service." She held the phone away from her ear and a shout rang out from it.

_"What? What do you mean they think I'm back? I haven't touched Lot 39 in years! I don't fucking know where my crowbar is!"_

"Well, you see, that's exactly why they think it. Mac Earlson, from Rawlie's gang, he was found beaten with a crowbar on the old 39."

_"DAMMIT!"_ And the line went dead.

"Your boys better not watch the news. Or it's gonna be hell. Macca will beat anyone within an inch of their life if they think it's true. Even if they're taller and tougher and a different species from a different planet."

"Yeah," Charley said solemnly. "I know."

-x-

Macca, without thinking twice, threw the whiskey bottle against the opposite wall. Amber drops followed as it turned in the air and shattered as it hit the gray stucco into what seemed to be a million pieces. Kylie stared at the woman in shock, watching as her scar steadily turned black. She pushed an angry hand through her blond hair as the other woman stood, strode quickly into the garage and slammed the door connecting it to the house. A brief clink of metal followed and the loud revving of Roadface's bike. It became quieter and only then did she relax, looking worriedly at the news station as it relayed the Loni Machine story.

"Fuck," she said shortly, entering the garage and examining the tool rack. One of the crowbars was missing. "Fuck."

-x-

_Jesus-fucking-bald-headed-ole-Christ!_ Macca thought, speeding back to the Last Chance. She turned sharply up the drive and into the garage, cut the engine and knelt next to her bike. _Come on, babe, there ain't nothing wrong with you._ She checked the fuel tank and the battery. Exhausting all possibilities of fault, she mounted and slowly coaxed the engine to life. It began to putter dangerously, and she lifted one leg to kick the side of the tank. The crowbar clunked against it, and it became stable. _Come on, babe, we got some business. _She caught brief sight of Roadface and Charley's silhouettes before she sped out.


	4. Chapter 3

I do not own _Biker Mice from Mars_. Neither do I own the song "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult. I do own a rapidly shedding dog. (Do the mice shed?) Also Macca does go a little nuts in this chapter. Sometimes she does that. Also, since I got mixed opinions on pairings, I'm going to write a bit of each and see which one I like best. So don't think Mac's a slut (although I don't think she minds.)

-x-

"Get outta my road," Macca whispered, watching as a pack of juvenille bikers, younger than her at least, cruised down one of the streets in Lot 39. She raised her voice above the rumble of the engines. _"GET OUTTA MY ROAD, MOTHERFUCKERS, YOU'RE DEAD, Y'ALL B'LONG IN THE MOTHERFUCKIN' BONEYARD, YOU GOT NO BUSINESS IN MY FUCKIN' ROAD!"_ The Machine's rear wheel spun and gave a loud squeal. It raced up a small hill and parted the ground. _"Fly,"_ Macca shouted. _"Just like a bigass bird! Fly! Godammit, FLY!"_ The Machine landed several feet in front of the group, and Macca jerked it into a sharp turn, metal screeching and giving off sparks as it swerved at an impossible angle. All of them cut their engines.

"What're you doin', bitch?" one of them demanded, clearly male. He removed his helmet and threw it down.

"You're in my road, motherfucker," Macca breathed, removing her helmet, too. Beneath the safety of tinted visors, shock passed over the group.

"Who say it's your road?" he continued.

"Shut up, dammit!" another one hissed. "That's the Steel Machine!"

The other bikes started up and speed off. The remaining biker stayed poised to fight. Macca laughed lightly. "What choo doin', boy?" she asked, her southern accent becoming thicker.

"I'm gonna fight you!" he snarled, lunging at her.

"Yeah, sure," she chuckled, dodging it with practiced ease. Without warning she raised the crowbar and brought it down on his head; he crumpled to the ground in a puddle of blood. Macca walked over to his bike, made a few 'adjustments', and walked back to her own. "Karma's a bitch."

-x-

"Where have you been?" Roadface demanded, grabbing Macca's collar and pulling her down to her height. Charley gave them a quick worried look and ushered the mice out of the room.

"Away, out," she said simply, making no attempt to get away. Her eyes were cold and emotionless.

"You stupid fuck," Roadface muttered quickly, pushing her back. Macca's hip caught the counter with a dull thump and she laid a hand on it. "Don't tell me you did what I think you did."

"Fine." She strode over to the liqueur cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Rebel Yell. After taking a large swig from it, she turned back to Roadface. "I won't." Her orange hair fell over her eyes as she tilted her head forward. "Don't matter."

"Okay, okay, but if you get arrested, it's your own fault," Roadface hissed. She exchanged her angry expression for a happy one and walked into the living room.

Macca stared for a few moments, before walking after her. She turned to Jude, who was perched happily on the stereo, and promptly told him to lighten the mood. She picked him up and sat on an empty chair with the turtle in her lap. A few seconds later, 'Don't Fear the Reaper' began playing.

_All our times have come_

_Here but know they're gone_

_Seasons don't fear the reaper_

_Nor the wind, the sun or the rain...we can be like they are_

_Come on baby...don't fear the reaper_

_Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper_

_We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper_

_Baby I'm your man..._

"Oh, great," Charley muttered, watching as Macca gave Jude an impossibly tight hug and began singing.

_Valentine is done_

_Here but now they're gone_

_Romeo and Juliet_

_Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet_

_40,000 men and women everyday...like Romeo and Juliet_

_40,000 men and women everyday...redefine happiness_

_Another 40,000 comin' everyday...We can be like they are_

_Come on baby...don't fear the reaper_

_Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper_

_We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper_

_Baby I'm your man_

At this point Roadface joined in.

_Love of two is one_

_Here but now they're gone_

_Came the last night of sadness_

_And it was clear she couldn't go on_

_Then the door was open and the wind appeared_

_The candles blew then disappeared_

_The curtains flew then he appeared...saying don't be afraid_

_Come on baby...and she had no fear_

_And she ran to him...then they started to fly_

_They looked backward and said goodbye...she had become like they are_

_Come on baby...don't fear the reaper_

The radio disolved into static. "And now I shall add to the list of things I have seen: giant mice staring at us in uber-shock." Macca grinned. "Just when I thought things couldn't get any weirder, this happens."

"Well, wait, you don't consider Jullian the Magic Turtle weird?" Roadface asked, watching as Jude slowly made his way towards the mice.

"Oh please, it's been six years. In another, they'll be normal," Macca explained, jerking her thumb at the mice. "And then I'll meet a dinosaur and after six years that will be normal and faintly annoying."

"Why?"

"Dude, have you tried to fit a dinosaur in a house?" Macca asked, throwing her hands up. "You can fit a magic turtle in a house, and you can fit three giant mice in a house, but a dinosaur? Forget it. But that would be cool."

"But you can't afford to feed it or give it baths, and it would be hell cleaning up after it."

Macca thought for a brief moment. "Yes, but it's cool." Roadface arched a brow.

"You have enough trouble with Jude," she said, crossing her arms.

Macca slipped out of the chair like a child about to have a fit. "That's because he eats metal and plays Aerosmith full-blast." She pointed at Jude, who had began gnawing Modo's arm. "See?"

"No, you cannot have a dinosaur--"

"--but--"

"--because you are irresponsible--"

"--but--"

"--and dinosaurs do not belong in Chicago--"

"--but--"

"--while we're on the subject, neither do Martian mice--"

"--I don't want--"

"--But at any rate, you're a yankee--"

"--I know that, but--"

"--and you would be out of a house--"

"--but--"

"--because the dinosaur you will eventually name Mr. Fluffy--"

"--I won't--"

"--which, by the way, was Jude's original name--"

"--but--"

"--sat on it."

Macca blinked a few times. "But...but...but...." She continued to stutter for several moments before getting up and storming to the guest room.

"Is it just me or does that sound like someone we know?" Throttle asked Modo. They exchanged a small glance with Charley and looked at Vinnie.

"What?" he asked, trying to keep Jude away from his faceplate. Roadface calmly plucked Jude off him before he, too, stormed off.

"Jee-zus, what irony!" Roadface exclaimed before slapping a hand on Charley's shoulder. "And you're in the middle of it." She grinned widely. "I'ma gonna ship off. Feed Jude, feed Macca and crap like that." She waved and walked out the door.

"That was interesting," Modo commented as Jude crossed the floor to Charley.

"That was nothing," Charley answered, picking up the turtle.


	5. Chapter 4

I've realized Roadface rambles alot (so does the real one). Also, any of you who may have read my cousin's (Black Confession) stories, she's a lazy butt, isn't she? I think she pays more attention to other people's stuff than her own.

Disclaimer: If I owned BMFM, I would not be stuck with this slow computer.

-x-

"Give that to me, dammit!"

"No way, sweetheart!"

Charley recognized both Macca and Vinnie, in the kitchen fighting. She descended the stairs and noticed that the source of the arguement was what seemed to be the last can of rootbeer. "Guys," she began, but stopped when Throttle made a small motion. He, Modo and Jude were watching from the doorway.

"Don't you sweet talk me, dude!"

"Just give it to me!" Macca, extremely annoyed, punched his jaw. "You're lucky you're a woman."

"I did it because I'm a woman!" And this started a whole new round.

"You were right," Charley said, watching as Vinnie tripped over a chairleg and fell on Macca.

"The resmblence is stunning," Modo agreed, ignoring the fact the Jude was once again attempting to eat his arm.

"What are you trying to do?" Macca shouted, pushing Vinnie off her and still keeping a grip on the can. "Rape me?"

"You watch it, honey!" He tried to pull the can away and suceeded in pulling Macca with it.

"Dude, your studly charms don't work on me!" She tried to yank it out of his grip and failed. "C'mon!"

The door opened and Roadface walked in carrying a bag. She glanced at the two of them, creased her brow, and set the bag down. She removed a rubber turtle and threw it at Macca.

"Hey, what--" she stopped suddenly, noticing the toy lying on the kitchen floor. She bent to pick it up and, from a combination of the condensation on the can and Vinnie raising it above his head, fell. "Like, dude!" she shouted, grabbing Vinnie's foot and pulling. She succeeded in pulling him down. "No don't--" But he was already chugging down the can.

"Mac, don't be like that," Roadface said, up-ending the bag over the older woman's head. "Here. All the crap I found in your room that you might want."

"Why can't I keep it there?" she asked, pausing in the task of pulling Vinnie's ear.

"Your dad's cleaning out."

"What?" she asked, comically grabbing Vinnie's arm and hugging it in a fit of worry.

"You're twenty-three and all your stuff is still in your dad's house. Go get it." She pointed to the door and Macca scrambled out.

"Seriously?" Charley asked as the sound of the bike recceeded.

"Actually, government is repossesing it. I am not lugging the extensive collection of crap over here. Macca will have to do it herself." She grinned briefly. "Remember the TKD?"

"TKD?" Throttle asked, ignoring the loud belch from Vinnie.

"Yeah," Charley said, smiling back. "The Trapper-Keeper of Doom. When Macca was back in school, she had a trapper-keeper. And every time she'd pick it up, she'd get a paper cut. So, at the end of the year, she threw it out the third floor window. It didn't do anything to it, but she was very proud of it. Then one of the teachers found her name it and gave it back. Needless to say, she was very mad."

"And she never thought to get rid of it after that?" Modo asked, sounding a bit skeptical.

"She _tried_, but it never worked," Roadface sighed. "She's run it over with her bike several times, all that got her was a bunch of tiretracks. Alas, it is indestructable. Mac shall be forever haunted by the existance of the Trapper-Keeper of Doom." She then eyed the three mice. "Perhaps you could help."

-x-

Macca returned an hour later, driving her father's truck. Two large cardboard boxes were in the bed, along with an extremely out-of-shape Honda Revo. "Isn't that-isn't that-isn't that?" Roadface asked excitedly, heaving herself into the bed of the truck. "You still have this?!" She patted the Honda happily and helped Macca unload it. "Lookie!"

"Yes, I see it," Charley said, placing one hand on her hip and laughing at the younger girl's antics.

"It still says--" Roadface stopped and grinned at Macca. Emblazoned across the side in bright orange was 'The Reaper' which had been crossed out and had 'The Kid' written under it, raked back to show speed.

"We went through tons of names, didn't we?" Macca asked, leaning over the side and tugging Roadface's long braid. "And now we shall start the 'Super Cool Nickname' club!" She adopted an air of duty and held up her hand. "I, Loni Machine, hereby announce that 'The Reaper' was one of the coolest nicknames I ever had!"

"What about Mom?"

"Oh, please don't remind me of that. It's even worse than that dunce," she said, glaring at Vinnie.

"What did you say?" he asked, taking a step forward.

"Well," Roadface said, wheeling the Honda out of the way. "This wonderful thing is the bike Charley gave Macca seven years ago, but she gave it to me when she got her bike, and I gave it back after I got mine, and then we tried giving it to Kylie -very good friend of ours- but she didn't want, so we tried to sell it but by then it looked like crap, so Macca ended up taking it, practically killed herself trying to get in the garage because there was this weirdo with a speedboat trying to go down the street, I don't think you people care, but she's alive and it was weird."

"Don't remind me of Speedboat Guy!" Macca shouted, sitting on a faintly concious Vinnie.

"What...happened?" Throttle asked slowly.

"I proved a point."


	6. Chapter 5

For the record, in the end of this chapter and the next one, the mice find out Macca's gay. Or half-gay. Or some percentage of gayness. The reason I say this is because it is frequently debated among Road, Kylie, and Mac herself.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you may recognize. I have a can of cream soda, but please don't sue me for it.

-x-

"I am frickin' busy, Road, frickin' busy," Macca said with a faint air of exasperation, shoving past the British woman with a handful of silverware.

"Busy? With what?" Roadface asked, leaning against the counter.

"Karusou Morgan," Macca began sternly, and Roadface shrank. "What is this?"

"That's a butter knife, Mac," she said cautiously.

"Do you want me to saw your limbs off with this butter knife?"

"No." She paused and narrowed her eyes. "Why would you do that?"

"Because that's what happens to people who ask too many questions," Macca snapped. Roadface raised her hands in defense and backed away.

"So," she began, worming her way onto the couch between Modo and Throttle. "What's with her?" There was a frustrated growl from the kitchen and Macca stormed across the living room, slamming the door behind her as she walked outside.

"She's stressed because it's Charley's birthday and we've refused to help her," Vinnie explained, leaning over the back of the couch. Roadface frowned.

"Don't come cryin' to me if you get beat up because of it," she said loftily, turning to look at him. "Honestly...Snowflake, did you think she'd be so keen on doing it by herself? Of doing it at all?" He looked away in thought for a moment before turning back to her.

"Did you just call me...'Snowflake'?" he asked slowly.

"That I did," she answered with a small nod.

"'Snowflake'?" he repeated.

"Are you deaf?" she asked with a faint grin.

"Why 'Snowflake'?"

"Well, you see, in honor of the 'Super Cool Nickname' club, we -me and Mac- decided to give you all nicknames. Yours is Snowflake. We've also decided that you, dude, are a total idiot. We didn't want to say it to your face 'cause that's, you know, mean. But judging by the things we've seen and the stuff we've done, we could care less about being mean. The truth is more important. Truth hurts. The truth is that you are a complete and utter idiot." She glanced at him and met his death glare before turning to the other two mice, throwing her arms around them. "Are we in agreement?"

"Don't bring me into this, sister," Throttle answered, removing her arm and standing, probably to remove himself from the immediate danger that was radiating from Vinnie. Roadface turned to Modo.

"How 'bout you, big guy?" she asked, giving her best innocent smile. He stood and exited the room, but not without grinning. "You see, they don't want to admit it, but they agree with me. They absolutely agree with me. One...hundred...percent."

_Slap!_

"Oh, yeah! Here we go, here we go!" Roadface shouted, briefly touching her slapped cheek before tackling him to the ground. A rather violent struggle ensured, causing a lamp on the end table to wobble over and break. Throttle flinched at the shattering sound and retreating to the kitchen, where the only danger was Macca returning with a butter knife. Modo, annoyed and amused, lifted Roadface off via an arm around her waist. "Weee!" she shouted enthusiastically as she was lifted off the ground.

"Don't beat up my best buddy," Macca said, seeming to appear out of nowhere. She wrapped her arms around Vinnie's waist as he stood, grinning faintly. "For me, your wonderful friend who is saving the birthday of the wonderful woman who occasionally lets you stay in her house, despite the fact that you are an idiot?" She batted her eyelashes and peered around to look at him. She turned and walked over to the door as an engine rumbled outside.

The door opened and suddenly the room was full of confetti. Macca was running around with a large bucket, tossing rainbow and holographic confetti in the air. She paused briefly to dump what was left over Charley's head. "Happy birthday, dudette!" she declared, thumping her on the back.

"Two hours and all you managed was a whole bunch of confetti?" Vinnie criticized, brushing confetti off himself. Macca turned on him, looking insulted.

"No! I also made a cake," she announced, heading for the kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out a cake, vanilla frosting and a motorcycle iced on the top. She grinned in success and pulled a pack of candles out of her back pocket. She placed a few on the cake, not caring if it was the right number or not, and lit them with a match.

"Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to Charley, happy birthday to you!"

Charley grinned and blew out the candles. After a brief fight over the knife, Roadface ended up cutting the cake, making sure that Charley got the biggest piece. The door banged open after a few moments.

"Oh, my love, we are reunited at last!" Kylie strode into the kitchen, pressing a hand to her chest, laying the other on Macca's shoulder.

"But of course, the cruelness of the world cannot keep us apart, my dearest," Macca joined in, grabbing Kylie's hands and holding them in her own. "I will never stop loving you."


	7. Chapter 6

Sorry I haven't updated in so long, but ever since the show went off the air I've been looking for new inspiration. Also, I was focused on the eighth grade trip to Washington, D.C. We went all from northeast Ohio to that place. We saw some hippies protesting. It was cool. But, back to the story. This one's kind of short, but bear with me.

* * *

There was dead silence for several moments. the room now had an air of a badly made soap opera. "But, my love," Macca continued dramatically. "Why are you here?"

"Oh!" Kylie exclaimed, followed by an unnecessary pause. "I was watching the news, and I happened to see that story." She placed the back of her hand against her forehead. "Oh, the horror! I also received this-" she thrust a piece of paper at Macca, earning a concerned look "-note in my mailbox. A note predicting your death!"

Macca took it and threw it behind her. "Oh, Kylie, how many times has my life been riddled with such things? There are constantly people fighting to see me locked away, or worse, killed. And that is because I have a reputation."

"Oh, but your reputation is too much! It is the very thing that teared our love apart!"

"But, we are not they only ones who have been damaged by love." Macca threw an arm around Roadface, who was now staring at the ground, a fist placed against her heart.

"I, too, have been betrayed by Hollywood love stories, left alone to wander the freeway, only to almost meet my demise at the will of a Mack truck." She pressed a hand over her scar. "Oh, the tragedy."

There was a moment of silence, during which the three of them were standing in a group hug. Someone, presumably Vinnie, coughed and made a disturbed noise. "Um," Charley said slowly. "Are you three done?"

"Oh, my," Kylie stated, pressing a hand against he cheek and closing her eyes briefly. "I see in the heat of the moment I have neglected to wish my dear friend a happy birthday. I'm sorry, and I don't have a present either." She paused. "I give you my love in the form of Macca." She pushed said person foreword. "She means a lot to me."

"And yet you're just giving me away," Macca commented with a small eye roll.

"Our love is priceless," Kylie countered, throwing her arms around Macca's neck.

"Wait," Vinnie began, throwing his arms out with a confused look. "Are you serious or is there a camera somewhere and this is going to show up on TV as a soap opera?"

"We're serious," Kylie assured. "You see, Macca is my ex-fiance."

There was a period of silence. "Do you have a problem with my being gay, Snowflake?" Macca asked, forming a fist. Vinnie shrunk.

"Of course not," he said, slowly inching behind Modo for protection. "Why would I?"

"In case you're wondering, I'm Kylie. I've known Macca since the second grade."

"And contrary to popular belief, I did graduate," Macca added with an air of self-satisfaction.

"Yeah, totally. Anyway, it's wonderful meeting you people. Or, uh, mice." She flounced out of the kitchen without another word.

"Well, that was interesting," Roadface chirped, clapping her hands together. "I got you a present. Something that I knew you would use everyday." She handed Charley a neatly wrapped box.

"It's...my wallet," she said slowly. "Thank you, Road."

"I knew it's what you always wanted."

"Here, have some money," Macca said, throwing a ten dollar bill at her. "Don't say I never gave you anything."

"You gave me a concussion once," Charley pointed out, which inspired three angry stares from the mice.

"Dude, we were seven, and ran into you at the top of the slide. It was an accident. I didn't mean to."

"Is the lovely Loni Machine admitting her faults?" Roadface asked, grabbing Macca's shoulder.

"No. I'm admitting that I was stupid when I was seven."

"Are you still stupid?"

"I graduated, man, and that's more than you can say."

"Aw, that's low."

"So, Charley, what you wish for?" Macca asked, vaulting over the back of the couch and slumping into the back.

"Well, actually, I need an errand run. Would you and Vinnie mind doing it?"

"What?"


	8. Chapter 7

This is kind of short, but I see it as comic relief. Sort of. And I guess I'm adding to Macca/Vinnie's "I act like I hate you but I might like you" type of relationship. At anyrate, here we go!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognize. This also applies to the previous chapter.

* * *

Macca stared stubbornly at the grocery store entrance from the seat of her bike. "Why do I have to do this with you?" she asked, glaring at Vinnie.

"Well, you ain't exactly a picnic, either," he pointed out, sneering at her.

"I'm sorry? What did you say to me?"

"Did I stutter? You heard me."

Macca huffed and turned away, swearing under her breath. "At any rate, we have to get this done in the next hour."

"Alright, give me the list," Vinnie said.

Macca looked mildly insulted. "No," she protested, bringing the slip of paper closer.

"Macca--"

"No!" Macca shouted, bolting toward the entrance with Vinnie in tow.

-x-

"Okay, so what are we supposed to get?" Vinnie asked, leaning against the cart, still holding Macca's jacket so she wouldn't run anymore.

"I don't know," Macca answered, giving him an annoyed look.

"Well, you have the list," he pointed out angrily, causing an elderly woman to glare at them and shuffle past. He watched to make sure the poor old woman was out of range before grabbing Macca by the collar. "Look, you--"

"I have a name, Snowflake," she shot back, crossing her arms. "Besides, you have to be nice to me if you want brownie points."

"Brownie points for what?" he snapped and Macca grinned.

"I was here first. And if you're mean to me, that means you go bye-bye." She waved at him and pulled away. "If you get brownie points, you get to stay." She popped up the collar of her leather jacket and winked at two teenage girls, causing them to swoon. "And, if you get enough, I can teach you that." She grinned and waltzed into the store.

"Yeah, but...I just want to see the list," Vinnie continued, following as she threw stuff into the cart. Macca threw the list at him and focused on putting several bags of cookies into the cart. "Mac."

"Yes, Snowflake?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.

"Half this stuff isn't on the list," he pointed out, waving it in front of her.

"I know. But I want it."

"We don't have that kind of money."

"But I want it!" Macca wailed, collapsing on the floor. The same elderly woman from earlier shuffled up to him.

"Shame on you for making a girl cry," she said in her waivering voice and promptly smacked him with her purse. He cowered a bit until the woman left. Upon turning back to the cart, he noticed Macca was no longer lying in front of it throwing a tantrum but across the store flirting with more woman. He made an annoyed noise and hurried over to her, a wheel on the cart squeaking.

"Oh, Macca, who's your friend?" one of them asked, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Vinnie blinked a few times, faintly smitten before grabbing Macca's shoulder and dragging her off.

"Oh, come on, I'm just having fun," Macca whined.

"No more fun. We have to get this done."

"We can survive on cookies. I know I can."

Vinnie thought for a moment before turning in the direction of the checkout.

-x-

"Um, what did you want them to do?" Roadface asked Charley as she examined one of the bags of cookies.

"I don't know. I hadn't gotten that far. Didn't you guys get anything on the list?" Charley hollered.

"Milk," Vinnie answered, fighting with Macca over a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

"Can't have cookies without milk!" Macca agreed.

"Guys, you failed," Roadface said, leaning against the couch.

"We failed? I've never failed," Macca said proudly, placing her hands on her hips.

"Not true. You failed math class."

"Didn't count. Math is hard. Can you do math?"

"No, not really. At any rate, you cannot follow simple directions."

"So?" Vinnie asked, holding the bag out of Macca's reach.

Roadface turned and leaned her forehead against Modo's arm. "I give up."


End file.
